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Recently, Farmer Dean and I were at a store looking for a new jacket. Dean was along for his opinion, but as a shopper, I pretty much know what I like and what I don’t like.

The Farmer is kind and gentle. He’s not boastful and he’s pretty good at being humble. So when he gives feedback, it doesn’t sting.

I tried on a fabulous jacket that I loved and my sweet husband said, ” Mam, I don’t think it looks good.” I said, “Huh? What are you saying to me?”

He answered, “I’m not sure. Either it’s the color or it’s the cut. The other one you tried on looked better. This, well … uh, it’s not so good.”

And then I saw it. I really saw it. I went to the large mirror at the back of the store and saw what Dean saw. It didn’t look so great. Bunched up in the back, too short in the sleeves and really made me look like I had jumped from upstairs to get into it. But the funny thing was all along, I thought it felt good … I felt happy so it must look good.

Today, this same scenario makes me think of my everyday life and what God’s been talking to me about. The older I get, the more experience I have had with the talents, gifts, and jobs I carry out in life.

Lately, wherever I go, people seem to overlook my years of hard work and trying to be humble, I avoid stating (although I really want to), “But I’ve been a Director of Worship & Creative Arts for 35 years, ” or “Wait! I’ve been a professional musician for 35+ years, wrote 5 books, have had my own bands, sung commercials for 8 years on radio, started my own business, blah … blah … blah.

You see if you’re reading this, you don’t want to be impressed by my resume. You want to be impressed by my kindness, my gentleness, my Christ-likeness.

But this week (and last) I was pushed by people challenging my knowledge, my skill-set and abilities. I reached in the back of my mind for my manual of all I’ve done, when suddenly it dawned on me. The Apostle Paul, one of the most respected apostles in scripture (who taught, preached, healed, wrote 13 New Testament books blah, blah, blah) didn’t start off his letter to the Romans with:

Nope. He said these words, “This letter is from Paul, a slave of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God.” He could have said, “I, the Apostle Paul …” But instead, he put the truth first. As a Christ-follower he was an incredible man, but he wore his humility beautifully. Like a perfect fitted suit coat. First comes the “slave of Christ …” and then he moves on to calling himself an apostle.

The couple of people last week who wanted to boast and brag and let me know that they were sure I didn’t know anything, well, I just gently reminded myself of Paul. No proving. No bragging. No remembering. No comparison. And definitely no competition. Let the others wear their coats and as the Farmer said, not look so good.

You see, I want to wear my jacket of humility right there for everyone to see. Like Paul. Like Farmer Dean. Like Jesus Christ.

Today is dark and wintry. There is stillness in the air that has enveloped me and as I look out over the farm, the sun is slowly setting. A night like this always makes me remember a journey some thirty years ago. It was a cold, wintry night when all hope seemed lost.

That night, my father, mother and I had begun a week’s vacation to Canada. Driving on slippery roads most of the day, white fluffy flakes piled up over the mountain tops. It was brisk and lovely that evening, as the stars spilled out a beautiful light over the countryside. I remember feeling a bit nervous as my father gripped the steering wheel tightly, while my mother sat still resting her head against the car seat.

Every so often, I could see Dad’s forehead in the glimmer of the car lights. I knew he was concerned. It was strange how the fact that knowing he was at the wheel gave me an assuring comfort. But something in me still worried about the concerned look that clouded his face.

After what seemed like hours, my father’s gentle hand reached back and touched mine as I was resting with eyes closed, head leaning against the backseat.

“Kathy, I need you to start praying,” he said. I heard the gentle breathing of my mother and knew she was fast asleep.

“What is it, Dad?” I questioned.

“We’ve been driving for the past fourteen hours,” he answered, “and there isn’t one motel with a vacancy sign where we are now. I don’t know what to do. It’s close to midnight and I’m feeling exhausted. “

I started to feel his panic. I was wide awake now and I noticed that we continued to drive for miles without a town anywhere in sight. The sky was beautiful and clear, but there was no sign of human life … anywhere.

After another half hour went by, my father pulled to the side of the road and said, “Kathleen, you need to drive. I just can’t go on.”

I knew things were serious as my daddy didn’t call me Kathleen unless the situation was dire. I got outside and moved into the driver’s seat. I, like my father, was exhausted as well.

On top of my panic about the long stretches of no civilization, I added to my fretting the fact that I had only recently secured my driver’s license. I had no idea how I’d fair driving on icy roads in the dark night. I breathed a silent prayer and buckled my seatbelt.

I frequently checked my rear view mirror to see if my father was asleep. I felt very alone in the darkness. Quietness completely surrounded me. But somehow, as I prayed, I looked out and saw a huge windmill gently spinning in the crisp wind.

The light from the moon struck the windmill so that it looked like a big strong comforting force. Round and round it went and as we approached it, I noticed that light was bouncing off of it. A small row of little cabins sat directly behind the windmill, as warm yellow light in the cold night spilled out across the snow.

My father spoke so clearly, I can still hear him as he said, “Honey, it’s a place to stay. Pull in. Pull in.” The sign that was warm and orange blinked ”VACANCY.” Over and over it glistened against the freshly fallen snow in the fields around it. I looked up to see beautiful tall mountain tops and sparkly white lights. My mother groggily opened her eyes and wondered where we were.

It was one hour from when I had taken over driving. One hour of begging God for a safe retreat. Uncomfortable, cold, exhausted, and uncertain of our future, we had one thing going … faith in God for where we would end up.

My father got out and grabbed the suitcases and said to me, “Perhaps this is the same way that Mary and Joseph felt that night when over and over they were told there was no room. Cold, tired, hungry, and scared. Why, tonight even made me feel uneasy and scared.”

I couldn’t believe he said it. My father said he was “scared.” He had to be strong for us.But we had been in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, with no place to stay.

Scripture tells us in Luke 2:4-7, “So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”

The memory has stayed with me these past thirty nine years. And today, I am once again reminded of the thankfulness for a journey that ended with a place to rest.

This season, we remember the birth of Christ, the holiness of that event, and the presence of His salvation in our lives. Today, let there be a warm welcome sign that blinks ”VACANCY” shining in our hearts for Him today. Let’s make room for the Savior and allow Him to take His rightful home in our hearts.

Thanksgiving is a day for friends and family. We invite people to our homes, cook up huge amounts of food and look at the past year to recite our many blessings that God has bestowed upon us. As a little child, growing up in southwest Iowa, we invited my extended family and everyone would pour in the door in a fit of excitement. The grandmas, my grandpa, aunts, uncles and cousins, and Thanksgiving was special. But my father always prayed a prayer of thanks and we always told what we were thankful for. But Daddy always reminded us at the end of our day, Thanksgiving was not just a day to be thankful … it was an attitude of the heart.

When we take time to focus on GOD … not just on what He’s done for us, but on a Mighty, Powerful, Loving God, it makes our hearts thankful.

In ll Chronicles 20, we see that there is going to be an attack on King Jehoshaphat and the people of Judah and Jerusalem. In verse 14, we see that the spirit of the Lord came upon Jahaziel.

Do you know who this man Jahaziel was? According to 1 Chronicles, he was one of the Levites assigned to make music for the temple worship and had probably not been a prophet before this time. In verse 15 we learn what the Lord tells the king and his nation, through this singer, Jahaziel, “Listen,King Jehoshaphat and all who live in Judah and Jerusalem! This is what the Lord says to you: Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s.” Verse 17 tells Jehoshaphat, “You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you.” Look at what these people are doing in verse 18, look how they are living a life full of worshiping the Almighty God, and within worship is our reverence and our gratitude.

“Jehoshaphat bowed with his face to the ground and all the people of Judah and Jerusalem fell down in worship before the Lord. Then some Levites from the Kohathites and Korahites stood up and praised the Lord, the God of Israel, with a very loud voice. Early in the morning, they left for the Desert of Tekoa. As they set out, Jehoshaphat stood and said, ‘Listen to me, Judah and people of Jerusalem! Have faith in the Lord your God and you will be upheld; have faith in His prophets and you will be successful.’

After consulting the people, Jehoshaphat appointed men to sing to the Lord and to praise Him for the splendor of His holiness as they went out at the head of the army, saying: ‘Give thanks to the Lord, for His love endures forever.’”

As they began to sing and praise, the Lord created ambushes against the men of Ammon and Moab and Mount Seir, who were invading Judah, and they were defeated.

I find it almost amusing that Jehoshaphat sends out the singers. Why amusing? As I’ve been working with musicians for over 25 years, I note specific things about them. They are emotional, caring, diligent,detailed, and yet sometimes spacey. They are supportive and love to cry.

I can honestly tell you that they are not much on athletics. They are not typically courageous, and they are not usually fighters. However, if God allowed Jehoshaphat to send out the bodybuilding youth pastors, or the church members who were at the gym all week, the glory wouldn’t have been there. Within this story, a simplistic lesson is given.

Do you see it? The kind and caring singers went first. They are not powerful. They are not muscular and athletic. No, they are emotional and worship-filled, they are God-fearing and thankful.

They are probably scared senseless within their awareness of their own humanness, but they are no doubt focused on the protection and power of their Almighty God through worship. They have heard His promise and its simple … walk first … sing the song … worship Me … I will protect you and you will win. No harm will come to you.

And they do just that. They go out with their song, and belt out the words, “Give thanks to the Lord for He is good, for His mercy endureth forever.”

When we put God first in everything, when we have attitudes that are prayerful, worshipful, and grateful, there is POWER to defeat the enemy.

When I met my husband, many years ago, I picked up on all of his habit-phrases. You know the ones I mean … when people say the same thing after the same situation occurs.

One of Farmer Dean’s familiar sayings comes after my delivering some desires and hope of what we should do over the weekend, or some task to take care of at the farm or the little church. “Will you help me?” I’ll ask.

He’ll respond with his habit- phrase: “Sounds like a plan.”

He delivers those words freely and frequently and that often brings me comfort and peace. It inevitably means that my farmer is on board and we’re moving towards a common goal.

But it isn’t always like that with God, is it?

More often than not, I will find myself planning things, preparing for events with specific details mapped out for the journey ahead of me.

I’ll map out everything for work that I’m going to accomplish the next morning … and then a friend shows up for an unexpected visit in need of some coffee and a listening ear.

I’ll deliver the schedule for our Best Life event to the team and someone speaks to long or goes to short. The timing gets all mixed up.

I’ll create my shopping list to head to the store and my daughter calls and says she needs a babysitter promptly.

I’ll plan our vacation to the exact minute, and we’ll hit a detour leading us an hour out of the way.

Here’s what I learned from these adventures. God’s in the plan. He’s orchestrating His will and His way for a bigger picture.

As I review those examples I just shared, I can tell you … God’s plan was better!

The friend was prayed over and encouraged. She was much more important than my work. She was God’s work.

At the events where timing gets off, I see the Holy Spirit working as He needs to so that He can reach the people’s hearts.

The shopping list for the store, well nothing I could have picked up was as important as picking up my granddaughter.

And the vacation, when we went an hour out of our way, we visited a beautiful old church and met someone with wonderful words of wisdom and comfort.

So when I find myself irritated and grumpy because the plan has now changed, and my “Sounds Like a Plan” has shifted to “God’s Change of Plans” I remind myself … God’s in this, He’s got this, and His ways are just better.

As I carried my granddaughter up the stairs of the old 1910 house, each step creaked loudly, echoing the sounds of yesteryears. I imagined how many times the stairs were climbed as a little child was carried off for nap time.

The day was struggling between releasing its summer warmth to embracing the coolness of the fall breeze and I closed a window before I grabbed a book from the shelf. Cordelia loves to read so books are important at nap time.

But today was different. Cordie said, “Nan, I’m too tired today. I’m going to sleep.” And in she climbed to her little bed and covered up. I saw the cat trying to make her way in the door to prepare herself for a nap at the end of the bed, and quickly pushed her out and shut the door.

There was a still darkness that made me sleepy and began to envelope us both. A restful, relaxing stillness of the early afternoon began to whisper, “sleep … sleep … sleep.” But just like that, as I reached for the doorknob, the peace was gone!

There was no doorknob.

In the utter darkness of the room I began to breathe heavily and said, “Cordie! We can’t get out. The doorknob is broken. It’s gone. We’re locked in.”

I turned on the light and began to fiddle with the 1910 keyhole, where there was once a doorknob. I could feel the panic settling in around me. The room began to feel closed in and small and I couldn’t catch my breath.

I threw open the closet door and madly began looking for something to help open the door. I could find … nothing.

I held back the tears. Why was I so frantic? Well, aside of the fact that I had a recently potty-trained child down for a nap, and that her parents would not be home for another 3.5 hours, I was worried about a fire breaking out or an emergency where we couldn’t get out of the room. The episode of Little House on the Prairie where the woman and baby end up dying in the upstairs bedroom when a fire breaks out was all I could imagine.

A gentle and unaffected voice sounded out and broke my fear, “Don’t be scared, Nan. You know what to do. You need to pray. Jesus will help us.”

I reached in my back pocket. My phone, something I never take with me when I tuck in Cordie, was in my pocket and I dialed the Farmer. “Dean, we’re locked in!” I exclaimed. My poor husband tried hard to bring comfort and calm me down. “Look out the window,” he suggested. “Keep breathing,” he said.

Next I called my son-in-law. He said he’d finish up at work and come home to help us. He’d not had a chance to put the doorknob back on after it had broken.

I sat in the church and prepared for a long cry. When Cordie’s little head popped off of her pillow and she said, “Nanny. We’ll be okay. I think you should pray. Jesus will help us. You pray.”

And so I did. I prayed out loud and asked for help. I asked for peace as we waited and for God to send us help.

When I said “Amen,” Cordie said, “Nan, I’m so tired, I have to go to sleep. You’ll be fine.”

A few moments later, I heard the rhythmic breathing floating across the room and heard the gentle whisper of the Holy Spirit. I felt like He said, “I’m here, Kathy. With you and the baby. It’s alright. You’re safe. There is nothing to fear. Cordie has a child-like faith in me. Can you remember when you had that?”

I couldn’t remember. I work hard at being faithful, but Cordie’s faith was effortless. It was as though there was no other option than to trust God because of course He was going to send help. That was that. It was time to forget about it, rest, trust and sleep.

I put my head back in the chair and after another hour we heard Cordelia’s daddy opening the door. She shouted, “Hurrah! My daddy has saved us. Jesus sent my daddy to save us!”

And so He did. I knew it was once again time to focus on, pray about, and strive to live life a little freer, a little stronger, and a little more faith-filled.